


perhaps tomorrow

by fealle



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, post-apocalyptic setting, reduced powers, underage porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fealle/pseuds/fealle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-apocalyptic travels. charles asks a million questions. erik can only answer "no" or "maybe".</p>
            </blockquote>





	perhaps tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> underaged porn. descriptions of sex.

_There is a Beautiful Creature_   
_Living in a hole you have dug._

\- Hafiz, "We Should Talk About This Problem"

 

 

 

Not for the first time in weeks, he asks him again: "if I told you I want it - "

"No." Erik's answer is absolute, but the tone varies from day to day depending on how cruel he feels. Charles bites his lip, feeling a lot more childish the more the silence passes in between them. He is not partial to Erik's silences, but Erik is, and more often than not he uses them often against Charles because he knows that Charles hates the silence, the lack of human contact amidst the hum of the car as Erik drives. The metallic hum calms Erik while it only makes Charles claustrophobic; and yet, for all that Erik claims to love him, he knows that the choice of the car was deliberate on his part.

Charles is sixteen. He's fair and pale and thin, but then again after the end of the world, who wasn't. He supposes, as he glances at himself on the mirror, that he looks pretty. This presents a whole array of complications that Erik isn't prepared to deal with. He glances at the way Erik grips the steering wheel and he knows that as much as the matter has already been settled by Erik's _no_ , the man hasn't forgotten what he wanted to say in the first place.

Charles reaches over and sets his hand cautiously on Erik's leg as he drives, and Erik tenses underneath his touch, but otherwise says nothing. Erik has the kind of fortitude to ignore overtures, innuendo. What Charles wants was for him to be wrecked by his slightest touch and be branded otherwise, but this is something that neither he nor Erik could agree on because to do so would be to acknowledge a truth and a responsibility that Erik doesn't want to be culpable of, that Charles doesn't give a damn about. Charles leans over to him in a fit of coquetry and decides to press a kiss on the edge of his shoulder as he drives while his hand remains on his leg, and he whispers, maliciously, "all your talk about _us_ being the better men, but look at _you_ , look at how you adhere to their laws regardless. Don't tell me I don't understand what I want from you because I do. What I don't understand is why you're perfectly willing to carry out a genocide, but you draw the line on having relations with your companion who also happens to be of the same gender as you."

Erik grips the handle of the wheel and nearly threatens to crush the car with his anger, and Charles thinks, _good_ , while moving his hand over his shirt to ruck it against Erik's chest, slip his nimble fingers in between the buttons and slowly pull them apart one by one. "Has it never occurred to you, you goddamned brat, that maybe - just _maybe_ \- I've no intentions of hurting you? Has it never occurred to you that in the off-chance I said _yes_ and the inevitable happened - "

"Why is the inevitable always the fact that I will be hurt?"

"- and why wouldn't it be? For fuck's sake, Charles, I'm not a hero. I'm perfectly comfortable in drawing lines across your back where the hilt of a knife would suit you just fine." Charles frowns, attempts to open his mouth and cut through Erik's logic with an innuendo of his own, but Erik waves him off. "I can hurt you, and I will. And you're asking me to do worse. In the event that I hurt you, I will never be able to forgive myself. Are you willing to live with that? Because I rather doubt that you understand - " 

"All I want," Charles says, his voice soft, tired, knowing that he's pushed Erik into another corner again - another corner within their relationship, for however it's defined, which the two of them have made for themselves out of cowardice, or whatever, "all I want, is for you to look at me like you do with those other women - for you to hold me like you would with them - for you to - "

His voice falters, and Erik sighs. 

"You treat your whores with more equality than you give me, all because I'm sixteen, and yet I've done a lot worse than most children my age, because I'm fairly sure none of them are psychopathic, murderous telepaths who travel with a genocidal maniac in their spare time, whom they also happen to be - "

"Stop."

Charles shuts up.

Erik keeps his eyes on the road and drives in silence for the rest of the time as they look for the motel. Charles looks out the window against the ruins of the world, the light from the setting sun blinding him and making his eyes watery as he closes his eyes. It's the sun, he reasons. It's the bloody sun that's making him cry because it's too damned bright.

 

♥♥♥

 

The world ended 85 hours and 32 minutes ago, which Charles has tallied because that had been from the last time he and Erik were in a party in his house, full of old money and other distinguished notables. Erik was there because he was one of Cain's, but Charles knew better, knew that he was there because Cain was nothing more than a thug and that Erik's true pursuit was one of Cain's contacts, a man named Schmidt. 

85 hours and 32 minutes ago Erik leaned down and kissed him in the mouth and Charles presses his tongue against his lower lip, hesitating, and Erik smiles at him, the kind of smile a man has when he knows he's doomed, and then Charles whispers, "I - there's an empty room right around - "

And that's where they ended up, a locked guest room in the west wing of his house, Charles lying down on the plush carpet with his legs spread out and arched, grinding, against Erik's crotch while Erik kisses him over and over again, moving down to his neck and his chest to bite and suck on the skin hard enough to leave bruises. Charles can't be faulted for thinking that they want the same thing 85 hours and 32 minutes later when the world declared a nuclear crisis while the revelry in his house goes and on and on and on. The only thing he takes responsibility for was telling him about the room, but, as he reasons to himself later, it could've been somewhere much worse.

But in that room, with both of them absolutely drunk with lust and alcohol and secrecy, nothing was so absolutely complicated and everything was just all about them, how Erik tilted his head to meet his own lips over and over again and how Charles willingly parted them for him every time; how he opened his legs at the slightest suggestion from Erik and how he allowed Erik to pull down his trousers and even helped him unzip his own. Erik didn't fuck him. But what Erik _did_ do was rut in between his legs from behind, and Charles loved it, Charles loved Erik being filthy and saying filthy things to his ear that made him burn out of shame while Erik keeps hold of him by his waist and thrusts in between his legs, his cock long and hard and slick with his own cum, Charles reaching below him to play with his own cock and wank off Erik's as well. Charles remembers him push up his shirt and feeling a thrill as he does so while he ruts between his legs, his heavy hand coming down on his ass whenever Charles made so much as a whimper, which lead to his ass red and wet that whole night.

And when Erik had come all over the carpets and Charles' legs and his stomach, he spat on Charles' ass, played with the whole and his perineum with his thumb, and kneeling down on his arms and knees he began to lick Charles' ass. Charles had to bite on his wrist to keep him from making sounds, but it was so good, he loved it, that Erik had to shut him up by wrapping his necktie around Charles' mouth while licking and tounging his asshole, squeezing his cock and playing his balls all the while until Charles cums, as well, gasping _Erikerikerik_ and _god, oh - yes - yes_ as he came right behind the neck tie around his mouth.

That was 85 hours and 32 minutes ago and Charles still remembers every detail even as he drifts off to sleep and Erik wakes him up to tell him they were in the motel's parking lot and he'd registered them for a single room (it was so clicheed, but he had no choice, everything else was full); he can continue his rest there. Charles grabs at his arm sleepily and begs him to carry him there; Erik rolls his eyes and concedes. Charles is carried to his side of the bed and he stays there while Erik leans against the window, smokes, leaves the television on for background noise. He glances at Charles sleeping on the bed, notes how pretty is, notes how the world is doomed to hell outside of the motel but Charles is here and god does he look lovely, just as lovely as when he'd first met him as a sad boy in Westchester when he'd pretended to be a chauffer because it was convenient to observe Cain's dealings with Schmidt that way. But Charles was dangerous, because not only does he know about Cain's sidelines, he also makes Erik realize that there might be something more than a life of him chasing Schmidt forever, and he's not sure what to make of that, regardless of something stupid like love or otherwise being involved.

Before Charles drifts off to sleep again, he murmurs, "I dreamt about that time in Westchester again."

And Erik only says to him, "That's not a guarantee of anything. Go back to sleep."

 

♥♥♥

 

He has a fantasy regarding him and Erik, and he finds that the more Erik continues down his path of self-flagellation via avoidance and prostitution, the more elaborate and filthy it becomes:

It'll be in one of the rooms in the mansion, probably in Charles' study, where Erik would have him seated on a chair against the window. His hands will be tied over his head and around the window, while his legs will be spread apart and held down over the arm rests. There will be a dildo involved and it will be shoved up in his ass for a while, before Erik comes back, but only to lick at his ass and play with his hole and fuck him with the dildo before he leaves again. There will be no gag over his mouth and he'll be allowed to scream as much as he wants, and in his fantasy he murmurs Erik's name over and over while the dildo is shoved up in his ass.

Then Erik will come and pull the dildo out, slick himself with lube and rip off a condom with Charles' teeth, and after teasing his hole with the head of his cock (in his dreams Erik is always hard), he will fuck him slow and hard and he will tease him mercilessly until Charles practically begs to be fucked hard enough for bruises so that he can feel Erik for days.

Erik will fuck him hard in that study and Charles will struggle while being bound the chair, practically begging for Erik to fuck him again and again, begging Erik for more, begging him not to stop, telling him that he loves his cock, calling himself his slut - 

and then Erik will cum over his chest, over his mouth, and Charles will lick every drop - 

\- and then he will beg him for more, _noch mal,_ he'll tell him - 

\- and Erik will agree - 

\- and Erik - 

 

♥♥♥

 

Erik goes to their bed later on, and Charles is woken up the moment he feels Erik beside him and he goes to rush towards him, pulling all the blankets around them as he rests his head at the crook of his neck, "When Schmidt is dead .... would you consider being with me?"

He doesn't know how to phrase this in a way that would make Erik question himself without adding the stupid question in the end, as if being with Erik was something he himself was never entitled to - and the truth was, he wasn't, but he never understood it, because Erik has always been with him, has always been doing his bidding at his call - at no time was he bound and chained in school. But it's also the most honest he's asked him ever since the world ended (90 hours and 15 seconds). But it's a question in which the possibilities are too great, and Charles wants at least some sort of _yes_ \- he'll even settle for a _maybe_ \--

Erik is quiet for a while, and then he presses a kiss on Charles' forehead. "I'll have to see him dead first, before I make any promises. But .... it's something I can consider, maybe."

'Maybe' doesn't automatically preclude 'together'; one can be in love and never have to look at a lover's face. There was a word for that, somewhere at the back of Erik's mind, and it slithers into his tongue when he looks at Charles, almost out of his reach but never quite, and Erik shakes his head.

He doesn't need to read Erik's mind for that, but the stray thought he catches are good enough for him. He tries for another one: "will you let me suck your cock?"

He hears Erik growl. " _Charles._ "

"Or, well, I could subject you to my fantasies of you and me." Charles sighs. "It was worth the try, anyway." He's quiet for a moment as he seeks Erik's other hand, fits his own with the spaces between his fingers. "I'm lying again, I'm sorry. I'm so lonely with you. I hope you forgive me for being honest, but it's true. I feel lonely even when you're here because you're always on the verge of leaving, and I feel it's ridiculously unfair of you to be like that, but I've no right to make you stay or change your mind, and I'm sorry for even considering that." He presses a kiss on Erik's collarbone and relishes the feel of Erik shivering underneath him as his tongue traces the edge of the bone. "I'm very selfish, I suppose."

"It has its purposes."

"But is no less difficult for you or me. I don't mean to make it - "

"Charles Xavier, shut up." Erik snarls. "Shut your goddamned mouth. You have every right to ask me to stay. I just - I reserve the right to decide how _long_ , if you're going to want this arrangement between us for whatever reason."

He's quiet for a while before he replies, "of course, I'm so sorry." And it's not so much as a promise but it's a start, it's something to work with. He thinks he'd be a lot more terrified if he and Erik started off agreeing with each other constantly instead of the mess that they are in right now, because then the betrayal once Erik leaves - and of course he'll want to leave eventually, of course, Charles thinks bitterly, as if there's no-one in the world who'll want him to stay more than just for some ghost that drives him to revenge - it will hurt a lot more, and Charles doesn't think he could handle that; or perhaps, he could, but is somehow terrified with how changed he would be afterwards. But this, he can work with. This, he'll be okay with, and against Erik's anger he can measure his desire and come out with an answer he could possibly be satisfied with. Somehow.

 

♥♥♥

 

Sometimes he's allowed to share a tub with Erik in the dark, where he leans back against Erik, naked, feeling his cock on the cleft of his ass while Erik slowly tilts his head backwards so he can wet his hair with water, his fingers moving to trace the curve and dip of Charles' face, as if he were learning to see him for the first time. Charles closes his eyes and relishes the press of thumb against his eyes, the hesitant move of the pads of his fingers over his lips, skin roughened by the water and the cold. His hands move to his chin, down to his throat and lingers over his adam's apple, and back again to his lips, where Charles kisses his fingers again, and again, and again.

Charles murmurs against his skin, "I dream of Westchester often."

Westchester is different for him as it was for Erik and as it was for the Charles that he'd been before he met Erik. He doesn't remember a mansion with its empty rooms, now; he remembers just a room, just a floor, just a man that he was entangled with, and for all of the awfulness that Westchester had built inside of him, that was a spark that he'd lovingly nourished despite Erik's protests, despite Charles' assurances to himself that this was a one-sided affair where Erik will prevail because his sense of shame about the whole affair is much greater than Charles, despite his indulgences. _Trotzdem, trotzdem, trotzdem alles._

Erik leans his head against the tiled wall of the shower, and sighs. In the small space of the bathroom his exhaustion is magnified in that small sound, and Charles thinks, _I'd love to hear that again._ "I don't dream. I'm too tired."

"You could try sleeping more," Charles tells him. "You can teach me how to drive. You could eat more. You could try living a lot better."

Erik's tragedy, Charles' despair, and they both know that while Charles will say these things and Erik will nod neither of them actually know exactly how far will they heed each other's call to _live more._ Both of them were too selfish to do so, anyway. "I was so close to Schmidt, back then."

"Well, darling, you'll just have to try your luck again," Charles replies, and he touches Erik's legs spread behind him, powerful and lean and beautiful to see, and Charles thinks of how many women and men had seen him this vulnerable, and he thinks that probably not too many given how Erik hates how vulnerable he actually is, because it makes him seem too human and that's all he really is. Charles presses a kiss over his knee and tells him, "you have to take care of yourself, you're growing old."

"I'm not that old, Charles."

"Well, you will be. Your hair will turn grey and they'll fall off eventually, and you'll have a respectful patch on your head that makes you look like a severe but rather wise Opa." Charles turns to him to press a kiss over his nose; Erik doesn't kiss him back but there's a slightly upward turn on the corner of his mouth. "I will love you even then, it's alright."

"I'll forget you eventually."

"That's even worse, isn't it, love," Charles leans over to cover his ears and lean his forehead against Erik's. At this distance he can't hear anything but his breathing and his heart and Charles' words magnified in the bathroom. "You'll have no choice but to believe me every time I tell you I forgive you, because you'll keep forgetting you said _no_ to me a million times."

Erik frowns. "You've grown trickier."

"I haven't," he says, and he kisses him. "But I prefer it when things go my way. Don't you?"

 

♥♥♥

 

Erik dreams of Charles, as well, and they are just as filthy as the ones that Charles dreams of, but he doesn't want to tell Charles of this because he doesn't want to prove him right. For this reason he doesn't go easy on him while he wanks himself off in the bathroom afterwards, while Charles dresses up outside and Erik locks the door. 

His dreams are uncomplicated as they are filthy. He dreams of pushing Charles down on his knees and making him open his mouth so that he can fuck his mouth again and again. Charles' hands would be bound behind his back. His legs would be spread below him. Sometimes he dreams of letting some other whore fuck Charles while his cock is in Charles' mouth. 

He dreams of pulling his cock out before he cums, but just when it's slick and wet, so he can smear it all over Charles' face, and then he will slap his face and humiliate Charles even further. He will bend him over his lap and slap his ass, make it sore and red before he fucks him. And when he fucks him, he'll do it while --

\-- Charles enters the washroom anyway while he's wanking off, smiles at Erik while his cock is in his grip, and he purposely doesn't look at his eyes but he bites his lip and doesn't say anything as he hangs his towel back on the rack. Charles moves towards him - and for a moment Erik was afraid - 

But all he does is to lean down and kiss the head of Erik's cock, lips momentarily wet and shiny with his cum, and then he leaves, and Erik cums hard after that, swearing.

 

♥♥♥

 

Not for the first time in weeks, Charles asks him again: "if I told you that I want you to stay, would you listen to me?"

To his credit, Erik pauses, and considers before he replies, "no, I won't."

Charles looks small and terrified in the passenger's seat, his hands clutching the leather underneath him in anger. "Would you come back for me?"

"No."

He doesn't look at him when he replies.

"Are you lying?"

"Don't ask me that. A better question would've been: do I regret it? Ask me if I regret it, Charles."

It has been 90 hours since the world ended and Charles cries. He hates not knowing on the account of being forced not to know, because Erik values the isolation of his mind sometimes a lot more than he does his craving for human touch. "Do you?"

".... no." Erik takes out his handkerchief, creased and worn from his pocket, and wordlessly gives it to him. "But I could think of worse things."

"Oh?"

Erik shrugs. "I could've decided, back then, not to exist in your world at all."

Charles wipes his eyes dry and he feels that he knows nothing, understands nothing, other than the world was indifferent to what he wants for them and what he wants for the rest of it: not much. A chance to carve a place for himself, which apparently, demands everything out of him overall, when he only has so much to give and he can never estimate how much of a price is exacted of him.

"I don't want to leave you."

"You will eventually," Erik says. "You'll realize you'll want your own crowd, you would probably scope out the few remaining schools in the country to see if they'll take you, you'll learn what you can, you'll be brilliant and you'll have other dreams. And you'll always have Westchester, and that's probably the worst of it, but none of that will matter eventually."

He wants to hate him. He wants to hate him so badly as he watches his forearms when he lights the ignition and the powerful metallic hum of the car fills their space and Erik drives them out to a future where a man is waiting to die so that he can look for his absolution somewhere. He wishes he can still accuse Erik of wanting to kill himself, that his righteous crusade had nothing to do with his mother but more about his own story of revenge, justified rather than by a hatred grown beyond his reaches, but with the death of his mother who by now is no longer but a prop in his Oedipal play. He wishes he can hate him, and accuse him of all of these things. But Charles looks at the veins on his hands and the lines on his face and knows that Erik already has, even without his help, and the most he could do is to lean his head against his shoulder and wrap an arm around his waist as he drove on and on, Charles saying, "I wish you would trust me." 

Erik tells him, "trusting you is the easier part, Charles."

He closes his eyes and dreams of Westchester again, because Erik there never leaves, and that Erik wouldn't kill, though he pushes him down and pins him on the floor, etherized by a possibility he cannot acknowledge and which paralyzes Charles with a perpetual want, much how butterflies anticipate the puncture of a pin.


End file.
